Peggy Owen at Yorktown Part 34

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHE STEPPED INTO THE ROOM]

"You shall have just one hour," said the youth, unlocking the door. "I shall call when 'tis time."

Peggy could not reply. In a tumult of emotion she stepped into the one room of the hut. The air was close and the heat almost intolerable after the freshness of the sea breeze outside. Coming from the dazzling glare of the sun into the darkened interior she could not see for a moment, so stopped just beyond the door, half stifled by the closeness of the atmosphere. When the mist cleared from her eyes she saw a small room whose only furniture consisted of a pine table and two chairs. Drayton was seated with his back toward the entrance, his head resting upon his arms, which were outstretched upon the table. The maiden advanced toward him timidly.

"John," she uttered softly.

The youth sprang to his feet with an exclamation of gladness.

"Peggy," he cried. "Oh, I did not hope for this."

"I had to see thee," she cried sobbing. "Oh, John, John! thee was loyal all the time, and I doubted thee. All these weeks I doubted thee."

"'Tis not to be wondered at, Peggy," he said soothingly, seeing how distressed she was. "Appearances were against me. But why should you think that General Arnold had aught to do with it? I could not understand that."

"He had asked for thy address, John," she told him through her tears.

"And he said that thee would be fighting with him before two months had pa.s.sed. When I saw thee in that uniform I thought at once that he had succeeded in wooing thee from thy duty." In a few words she related all that had pa.s.sed between her and the traitor. "Can thee ever forgive me?"

she concluded. "And did I hurt thee much, John?"

"It's all right now, Peggy," he said with a boyish laugh. "But I would rather go through a battle than to face it again."

"Why didn't thee tell me, John?"

"For two reasons: First, the redcoats swarmed about us, and 'twould not have been safe. Second, you were with your cousins, and I knew that Clifford at least would be suspicious of me-particularly so if you were not distressed over my desertion. 'Twas best to let you think as you did, though I was sorely tempted at times to let you know the truth. I thought that you would know, Peggy. I was surprised when you didn't." It was his only reproach,

Peggy choked.

"I ought to have known, John. I shall never forgive myself that I did not know. Was it necessary for thee to come?"

"Some one had to, and the Marquis wished that I should be the one. You see, he could not understand why Cornwallis faced about, and made for the seaboard. He did not have to retreat, but seemed to have some fixed purpose in so doing that our general could not see through. Nor could any of us. The Marquis sent for me, and explained the dilemma, saying that he needed some one in the British camp who could get him trustworthy intelligence on this and other things. The service, he pointed out, was full of risk but of inestimable value. I should be obliged to be with the enemy for a long time. It might be weeks. If I were discovered the consequence would be an ignominious death. Of course I came. When there is service, no matter the nature, there are not many of us who are not glad to undertake it."

"But to die?" she gasped.

"I shall not pretend that I don't mind it, Peggy," went on the youth calmly, but with sadness. "I do. I would have preferred death in the field, or some more glorious end. Still, 'tis just as much in the service of the country as though I had died in battle. Were it to be done again I would not act differently."

"Thee must not die, John," she cried in agonized tones. "Is there no way? No way?"

"No, Peggy. I would there were. I'd like to live a little longer.

There's going to be rare doings on the Chesapeake shortly. Let me whisper, Peggy. 'Tis said that walls have ears, and I would not that any of this should reach Cornwallis just at present. 'Tis glorious news. The Marquis hath word that the French fleet under the Count de Gra.s.se hath sailed from the West Indies for this bay. 'Twill bring us reinforcements, beside shutting Cornwallis off from his source of supplies. His lordship hath not regarded the Marquis seriously as an adversary because of his youth, and so is fortifying leisurely while our young general hath encompa.s.sed him in a trap. He is hemmed in on all sides, Peggy.

"Wayne is across the James ready to block him should he try to retreat in that direction; the militia of North Carolina are flocking to the border to prevent the British commander cutting a way through that state should he get past Wayne. The Marquis is in a camp of observation at Holt's Forge on the Pamunkey River ready to swoop down to Williamsburg on the arrival of the fleet. General Nelson and the militia of this state with Muhlenberg's forces are watching Gloucester Point. Best of all,-lean closer, Peggy,-'tis whispered that Washington himself may come to help spring the trap. He hath led Sir Henry into the belief that he is about to attack New York, and my Lord Cornwallis feels so secure here that he expects to send his chief reinforcements to help in its defense.

If the French fleet comes, the end of the war comes with it. Ah, Peggy!

if it comes."

"Thee must live, John," cried she excitedly. "Oh, thee must be here if all this happens. Help me to think of a way to save thee."

"I have done naught but think since I was brought here, Peggy. If I could get past that guard at the door there would be a chance. But what can I do with a locked door? I have no tools, naught with which to open it. There is no other entrance save by that door and that window. No;"

he shook his head decidedly. "'Tis no use to think, Peggy. The end hath come."

"And how shall I bear it?" she cried.

"'Tis for the country, Peggy." He touched her hand softly. "We must not falter if she demands life of us. If we had a dozen lives we would lay them all down in her service, wouldn't we? If I have helped the cause ever so little it doth not matter that I die. And you will let the Marquis know what hath happened? And General Greene? I am glad you came.

It hath sweetened these last hours. I'll forgive Clifford everything for permitting it. You are not to grieve, Peggy. If I have been of help to the cause in any way it hath all been owing to you. I have in very truth been your soldier."

"Peggy!" came Clifford's voice from without the door. "Time's up!"

"Oh, John," whispered Peggy, white and shaken. "I can't say good-bye. I can't--"

"Then don't," he said gently leading her to the door. "Let us take a lesson from our French allies and say, not good-bye-but au revoir." Then with something of his old jauntiness he added: "Wait and see what the night will bring; perhaps rescue. Who knows? Go now, Peggy."

"We were speaking of rescue," he said smiling slightly as Clifford, fuming at Peggy's delay, entered the room. "I have just said that we know not what a night will bring forth, so I shall not say good-bye, but au revoir."

"You will best say good-bye while you can, Sir Captain," growled Clifford. "You will never have another chance. Come, my cousin."

CHAPTER x.x.x-WHAT THE NIGHT BROUGHT

"'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its l.u.s.ter and perfume, And we are weeds without it."

-"The Task," Cowper.

"Who is the relief for to-night?" queried Clifford of the guard as he closed and locked the door of the hut.

"Samuels, sir," responded the soldier saluting.

"Tell him that I shall take charge at midnight," commanded Clifford. "I am going to stand guard myself so as to make sure that naught goes amiss." Then turning to Peggy he added: "I liked not the last remark of that captain. It savored too much of mischief."

But Peggy, knowing that Drayton had uttered it solely for her comfort, made no reply. The afternoon was well on toward its close when they reached their abode, and the girl went straight to the room which she and Harriet occupied in common.

Harriet had just donned a dainty frock of dimity, and was now dusting her chestnut ringlets lightly with powder. She glanced at Peggy over her shoulder.

"There is to be company for tea, Peggy," she said. "Two officers. Will you come down?"

"No," answered Peggy sinking into a chair. "I would rather not, Harriet."

"Don't you want something to eat, Peggy?" she asked after a quick look at Peggy's face. "You have eaten naught since breakfast. Or a cup of tea? You will be ill."

"No, I thank thee, Harriet." The maiden leaned her head upon her hand drearily. The world seemed very dark just then.

"Tell me about it, my cousin," spoke Harriet abruptly. "'Twill relieve you to talk, and I like not to see you sit there so miserable."

And at this unlooked-for sympathy on Harriet's part Peggy broke into sudden, bitter weeping.

"He is to die," she cried. "There is no escape, Harriet. Thy brother holds the key, and is to stand guard himself lest aught should go amiss.

He is cruel, cruel. Oh, the night is so short in summer! The sunrise comes so soon! Would that it were winter."